


Every secret of a writer’s soul

by Cinaed



Series: Turin Turambar, Movie Star [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, Pre-Relationship, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4957051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Beren meets Lúthien is one of the worst days of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every secret of a writer’s soul

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to be writing this series all out of order, but here's the story of how Beren and Lúthien met in my modern AU.
> 
> The title comes from Virginia Woolf: “Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”
> 
> Warnings are at the end notes.

The phone connection was terrible. Gorlim’s voice crackled and echoed in Beren’s ear. Beren heard his name and then “your dad,” and that was all. It was still enough to give him a sick feeling in his gut.

Beren set down the pack of beer on the kitchen counter and went outside, where the reception was better. He took a deep breath of the mountain air and tried to fight down his fear. Still, all the worst things that could happen to firefighters paraded around in his head. His stomach roiled.

He sank down into the rocking chair Belegund had made. “Gorlim, I can’t hear you,” he said. “What happened to my dad?”

“He,” Gorlim said, and coughed, a terrible hacking sound that made Beren wince. It seemed to go on forever. Then at last it stopped and Gorlim said breathlessly, “Beren, your dad— it’s serious. The doctors won't tell us anything but...you need to get to Brethil General. Your mom's flying in, but it'll take another three hours before she--” He broke off, coughing again.

Beren raced back inside. His keys were on the table. He grabbed them and bolted, leaving behind most of the grocery bags still full on the counter. “I'm already at the cabin, but I can be there in about half an hour. What happened?” he demanded as he ran towards his car.

“You know Melkor Records opened up a new recording studio downtown.”

“Yeah, sure, but-- there was a fire?” Beren said, disbelieving.

“Monday was Eliniel's first day,” Gorlim said as though Beren hadn’t said a word. “I just...I lost my head. Your dad--” Again came the terrible coughing.

Beren's hand was shaking. He couldn't get the door unlocked. He thought of Gorlim's wife, who was always smiling and baked the entire firehouse cookies every couple weeks to encourage them. “Is she okay?”

“She, yeah. Smoke inhalation, but she'll be okay,” Gorlim said. He took a shaky breath, or maybe he was crying. It was hard to tell, but Beren felt sick just listening to him. “Beren....”

Hearing the guilt in Gorlim's voice, Beren said quickly, “Look, I need to get on the road. Just-- just call me if anything changes?” His voice shook at the last, and he barely heard Gorlim's, “Of course,” before he hung up.

Somehow he got into his car. When he put the key in the ignition though, nothing happened. Beren stared in disbelief. He turned the key again, but the engine was silent. “No. No, no, _no_.”

Popping the hood, he looked at the engine in despair. He didn't know anything about cars, but nothing seemed out of place. “Please,” he said, as though the car would take pity on him. There wasn't a single taxi that would come up the mountain, and it was five miles downhill until he could get to a main road.

He tried to start the car one more time, but it was no use. His car, which had lasted him for ten years, had failed him at the worst possible moment. He got out of the car and crouched, pressing his head against the side of the car and trying to think. Panic choked him. He took deep breaths, the kind he talked people through when they were hyperventilating, until he could breathe again.

When Beren lifted his head, he froze. A deer was standing next to him. This close he could see every color in its coat, how dark its eyes were, and its startled look that probably mirrored his own. For a long moment he and the deer stared at each other, neither daring to move.

Then a rock shifted under his boot. In the silence, it sounded as loud as a gunshot. The deer turned tail and fled, a tan blur as it bounded into the forest and disappeared.

Beren let out a breath, calmer now. Nature always steadied him, somehow. He got to his feet, squaring his shoulders. Five miles wasn't much, not when he'd gone on daily runs with his mother since high school and kept up the habit through college and EMT training. He’d get to the main road and hitch a ride.

He brushed the dirt off his jeans and began to run. The wind whipped at his cheeks and stung his eyes, but he ignored the discomfort, keeping his eyes fixed on the long dirt road and his thoughts fifteen miles away at the hospital.

The road turned steeper and sharper. All he could hear was his own harsh breathing and the roar of the wind. His right foot slid upon a loose stone as he rounded a turn, and then he was falling. He slammed hard into the ground and rolled until he crashed against something.

He lay there, his head ringing, and wondered what he'd done to deserve this day.

“Are you okay?” someone asked.

When Beren opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was bent over him, her long dark hair falling around him like a black wave. He stared, all thought leaving him. He only remembered that she'd asked a question when she frowned, concerned, and said, “Did you hit your head?” Her voice was low and musical, and Beren wanted to hear her sing, the desire sudden and desperate.

She touched his cheek. Despite the gentle touch, pain flared. As though that had signaled his injuries to his shocked body, Beren felt the rest of the scrapes and bruises begin to sting and ache.

“No,” he said. Then he touched the back of his head. It felt tender beneath his fingers, and he thought there was a small knot beginning to form. He grimaced, imagining how he must look to her, bloody and dirty, like a wild man out the woods. “I mean, I did, but I'm all right. I--”

When he tried to sit up, the woman held him down. He was distracted by the force in her grip, and her nails, which were painted with white flowers so delicate that they looked like art. “Let the doctor have a look at you,” she said firmly.

“The doctor?” Beren echoed, and then finally looked past her. He was in the middle of a movie set. Judging by all the people milling around, watching, he'd interrupted them mid-take. Embarrassment swept over him. “That's not necessary. I just need--”

The fall and the woman's beauty had knocked the memory of Gorlim's phone call clean out of his head. Now he remembered and went cold again. This time when he tried to stand, the woman let him. “I need to get to Brethil General. My dad--” His throat closed up on him. “My dad,” he tried again, and choked on the rest of the words.

The woman looked at him. His chest ached at how kind she looked, her dark eyes soft with sympathy. “Okay,” she said very quietly, and touched his shoulder. “Okay.” Then she raised her voice. “Beleg! You were going down the mountain, weren't you? Drive him to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Beren said. He wanted to say more, but it seemed like he’d forgotten every other word he knew. Feeling stupid, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

The woman smiled. It made her eyes shine like a pair of dark stars. “You’re welcome. I just hope your father’s all right.”

Beren carried the memory of her smile with him through the car ride. He was finally distracted from her and his worried thoughts when Beleg asked, “Do you need me to get in touch with anyone for you?”

Beren blinked at him, and saw an echo of the woman’s concern in the man’s freckled face. He tried to smile. “No, my mom’s flight should be arriving in another hour or two. She’ll have put the word out.”

Beleg didn’t ask any more questions, just nodded, but Beren kept talking. Focusing on his mother was easier than worrying about his father. “She’s an EOD specialist in the Marines. That’s, uh, bomb squad. Her job is how my parents met, actually. She was assigned to train the local law enforcement and emergency services in case of bomb threats, and my dad was in one of her classes.”

“Your father’s in law enforcement?”

“No, he’s a firefighter. I have a couple relatives who are cops, though. Family’s one of those ‘serve your community’ families. Name a service position and I’ve probably got a cousin who does it.”

Beleg looked at him for a second, and Beren couldn't read his expression. “Sounds like a big family.”

“Pretty big.” Beren attempted a laugh. “Let’s just say I always had the largest family tree when we had to make one for school.” He straightened as they passed the sign for the hospital. All his fears came back to him in a rush.

He jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped moving, or maybe a little before, because Beleg had to grab his arm and keep him steady as he tripped. "Hey," Beleg said, frowning. "Get a doctor to look at you, okay?"

“Sure. Thanks,” Beren said, smiling weakly. Then he closed the door and ran.

His father’s doctor wasn’t one he recognized, but Doctor Estë was calm and focused as she cleaned his scrapes and checked him for a concussion. Only once she was satisfied that he didn’t need any scans did she begin to explain his father’s injuries. Beren couldn’t concentrate on the details, except that there had been a brain injury and his father was in a medically induced coma.

“Unfortunately, we won’t know if there was any significant damage until the swelling goes down,” she said. She frowned. “I wish I could tell you more, but at the moment all I can say that he’s stable. We're keeping a close eye on him. Hopefully I’ll have more answers for you in a few hours.”

Beren opened his mouth. About a thousand questions choked him, but the one that escaped was, “Can I see him?”

Estë’s expression softened. “Of course.”

Beren took one look at his father and tears blinded him. Even that brief glance had been too much-- already the sight was imprinted on the back of his eyelids. His father’s dark skin was gray, his head and his right arm nearly hidden by all the bandages. There were a million wires and tubes coming out of him, and he didn’t look entirely human, like he was some wax figure the hospital had set up as some part of horrible prank.

Beren felt Doctor Estë touch his shoulder. He let her direct him to a chair. Then he sat and leaned forward as she quietly left the room. Blinking away his tears, he took his father’s hand in his, careful not to jostle any of the wires. “What were you doing? Today was supposed to be your day off,” he whispered. “Remember? You were supposed to be packing. You shouldn’t have been at the station at all.”

His father didn’t answer. Beren hadn’t been expecting him to, but the silence still hurt.

Tears filled his eyes again. He cleared his throat. “Mom’s going to yell, you know. Remember how she was when you ended up in the hospital last time? This is going to be a million times worse. And--” He took a deep breath. “And you need to get better so I can tell you about this woman I met. She’s beautiful, and kind, and she helped me get here after my car died, and I…I just realized I didn’t ask her name.”

Now he really did laugh. He laughed so hard his sides ached. “I didn’t-- well.” He resisted the urge to touch his face where she’d pressed her fingers. He laughed again, shaking his head. “I think you’d like her. She was like a princess out of a storybook. I just-- I can see it so clearly, Dad. She’s probably an actress, she's so beautiful. It was like she just walked out of one of those stories I used to write in high school, a fairy princess standing in a white gown with flowers in her hair.”

He’d half-forgotten those stories and the fantasy world he had created. He must have written thousands of words about that silly fairy tale world, filled with gentle princesses and peasant boys who turned out to be heroes. Now he wanted to laugh at himself, remembering how easily the woman at the movie set had taken charge. That man Beleg hadn’t hesitated to follow her orders.  _She_ wouldn’t be a passive princess, letting a boy she didn’t know anything about go off alone to save her kingdom. She’d be right there in the thick of things, fighting against the evil sorcerers, a heroine in her own right.

“A fairy princess. Or a sorceress queen. Her _voice_ , Dad,” Beren said dreamily. “I bet she’s a singer as well as an actress. She'd sing a spell that would sway armies or bring someone back from death.” He looked at the IV in his father’s arm. His throat tightened again. “Wake up and I’ll write a better story than the ones you suffered through when I was a kid. This will be more like those fairy tales you used to read to me, out of that book Mr. Felagund gave you, but mine will be better. The princess is going to save herself, and the peasant boy will just be along for the ride.”

He looked up. His father’s face was calm, like he was only sleeping lightly and would wake up in another minute. Beren squeezed his hand. “Just get better, and I’ll dedicate the book to you, okay? Please. Please.”

 

* * *

 

If someone had told Beren three years ago that he'd be sitting down to dinner with the head people of Doriath Productions and finalizing a contract for a movie based on his book, he wouldn't have believed them. Sometimes he still thought this was a weird, long dream. It wasn't just that his book had been published, which was incredible enough, there was the fact that somehow it'd become a bestseller. And now _The Keys to the Kingdom_ was becoming a movie.

“We're so happy that you chose Doriath Productions, Beren,” Melian said, smiling.

Beren smiled back. His nerves made his heart pound, and it was an effort not to fiddle with his menu. “It was an easy decision. Your company has done faithful adaptations before. And your scholarship program is amazing. I know a couple people who went through that program, and it changed their lives for the better.”

Thingol touched his wife's arm and looked up at her, his expression soft with affection. “The scholarship program was Melian's idea. In fact, most of the philanthropy efforts of Doriath Productions were started by Melian and our daughter.” He looked towards the empty chair next to him and added with a slight frown, “She seems to be running late. I'd intended to introduce you to her tonight.”

“Sorry!” said a warm voice, laughing a little through her apology. “The valet was actually one of our extras for _Making History_ and we lost track of time.”

Beren turned, ensnared by that musical voice. Amazement turned him to stone. He stared at the woman's familiar face, embarrassment and wonder warring within him.

“Lúthien!” Thingol stood and embraced her, though he had to reach up to do it. Thingol wasn't a short man, but both his wife and his daughter were taller. He turned and said with a smile, pride warming his voice, “Beren, this is Lúthien, our daughter. She'll be the composer for the soundtrack.”

“I,” Beren said, and swallowed. His mouth was dry. “We've, uh, met actually.”

“We have?” Lúthien's dark eyes studied him, and his heart sank as Thingol and Melian stared between them, looking puzzled.

Beren wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Of course she wouldn't remember him. Why should she? He smiled weakly. “Briefly. It was a couple years ago, and I was having a pretty bad day.” He touched his cheek, and it was like the memory was brand new. He could almost feel her fingers against his skin. “Plus I've cleaned myself up for tonight.”

Lúthien's eyes widened. “You're the man who fell down the mountain,” she said. She stepped closer, and a matching amazement filled her expression. She laughed. The sound banished most of Beren's embarrassment. “Oh, you worried me for ages! Beleg said he thought that your father was an injured firefighter, and then I saw the news about multiple injuries at that Melkor Records fire, but of course the hospital wouldn't release any details. And then I thought it'd be a little strange for me to visit—”

“You wanted to visit?”

Unexpectedly, Lúthien flushed, a faint hint of pink coloring her pale face. “Well, I suppose that seems a little silly, wanting to visit a man whose son I met for all of five minutes,” she said, laughing again. “But you looked so worried, and I wanted...well! It doesn't matter now.” She shook her head. A hint of concern crept into her expression. “How's your dad?”

“He's better,” Beren said. “The doctors were worried for a little while, but he's recovered fully.” He couldn't seem to stop smiling. She'd cared enough to think about him afterwards. It was more than he'd ever dared to hope. Stupidly, he said, “You're a composer? I knew you worked in music somehow. Your voice is so--” He clamped his mouth shut on the rest of his babbling. It was his turn to flush, though his dark skin probably hid it. He tried to change the subject. “Um, you're composing the music for _The Keys to the Kingdom_?”

“Yes,” Lúthien said. Her face glowed with enthusiasm. “I love your work. Princess Nightingale is such a wonderful, well-rounded character.”

“Oh,” Beren said. If he had blushed before, that was nothing compared to how hot his face felt now. He looked away from her questioning expression, studying the painting on the wall beside their table. It was a beautiful picture of the sea, the waves delicately painted. He licked his lips, his mouth even drier than before, and wondered if the server would be coming by soon with his water. “That's. Uh. Well. I'm glad you like her.”

When he looked at her again, Lúthien was smiling, something startled but delighted in her eyes. Their eyes met, and he knew that she suspected she'd been the inspiration for the princess. “I like Nerebon too,” she said, lowering her voice as though confiding a secret. "He seems like a good man." 

“Oh,” Beren said again. Hope and longing tightened his chest. This wasn't the same at all, but he still felt like Nerebon at the moment Nerebon realized that the princess had defied death and brought him back to life. He didn't look away from Lúthien until Melian cleared her throat and said, “Why don't we sit down and finalize that contract? And then you can tell us a little about this first meeting. It sounds like quite a story.”

“Yes.” Beren grinned. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop. He looked again at Lúthien's smile. “Inspirational, in fact.”

**Author's Note:**

> Barahir is injured in a fire, and there is a non-graphic depiction of him in the hospital bed.


End file.
